


Walk From Your Dream To Mine

by ominousrum



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Divergence, Cry with me friends, F/M, Heavy Angst, I'm coming at you with a thousand feels for every week I've missed, Sorry Not Sorry, season 4 spec fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-26 19:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9919043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ominousrum/pseuds/ominousrum
Summary: Fitz felt his eyes fill with tears in spite of himself. He hadn’t cried in such a long time, the sensation left adrenaline flowing through his veins. A spark of emotion turning into electricity within him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This kept rattling around in my skull after 4x15, so I had to write it. Not sure how many chapters it will be just yet, but I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> Title is taken from Illumination by Broadcast (please listen to it, it's perfect).
> 
> I'm wheres-your-rum on tumblr, if any of you lovelies want to yell at me over there...

Leopold Fitz felt good for a Monday – no meetings lined up, bright cloudless sky to greet him as he stepped out of his town car. Birds were singing, his bacon butty had been delicious – life was good. 

“Good morning, Mr. Fitz! Your coffee is ready and waiting for you in your office along with the latest report on the inhuman eradication project.” 

His assistant had everything ready for him every day without fail and was perfectly accommodating with anything he asked for. He imagined if he ever called to request a pygmy hippo there would be one in his office in the span of an hour, at most.

“Project Adios.” Fitz corrected.

Eloise gave him a placid smile. Everyone _always_ gave him a placid smile. Perhaps he should devote some of his time to thinking up the most ridiculous project names to see if anyone dared disagree with him.

Who would disagree with him, though? He was one of the highest ranking employees of the largest organization in the world. He smiled at the thought as he shrugged out of his coat, handing it to Eloise as he stepped into his office.

His morning routine rarely deviated from its set path. Listen to his messages while drinking coffee number one, catch up on the news of the day, send updates about various projects he was working on while drinking coffee number two, take a virtual tour via CCTV of the labs, and jot down five ideas for new technologies while drinking coffee number three.

He pressed the message retrieval then settled down in his leather desk chair, spinning to watch the world go by through the floor to ceiling windows taking up the south wall.

“Hi Fitz…” The voice sliced through him like a knife, though the tone was soft, almost reluctant.

It wasn’t her. It _couldn’t_ be her.

“I wanted to talk to you in person or at least to _you_ rather than an answerphone but I suppose this may be for the best. I imagine you’d probably think a dead woman would be a hallucination anyway.”

You _are_ a hallucination, Fitz thought, frantically searching his office for signs of tampering. Maybe they’d slipped something into his whisky last night and this was all a horrific dream.

“Well I’m not dead. Not really, anyway. Although I may be soon if I can’t get through to you.”

Something long dormant stirred in his chest at her words, something he didn’t think he would ever feel again. It took him a beat to realize it was fear.

But how could he fear for her life when she was already gone?

Her sigh bristled the hairs on the back of his neck. “I’m not sure how much of _us_ happened here or how much of it you even remember. So I guess I should opt for the short version of the speech I’ve prepared…”

He sucked a breath through his teeth. He should call Dr. Reynolds. He should call a doctor on his mobile and then throw his bloody desk phone out the window.

“Do you remember when we first met? You were so quiet and pasty, so incredibly smart and handsome.”

It had to be a nightmare. There was no other explanation. The torture was so acute this was something only his own mind could dream up. Jemma Simmons had been dead for three years. Why did it take three years for this horror to dig its claws into his brain?

“I never wanted to be apart from you, even then. I just didn’t know that meant- I didn’t know until I nearly lost you how much I loved you.”

Fitz felt his eyes fill with tears in spite of himself. He hadn’t cried in such a long time, the sensation left adrenaline flowing through his veins. A spark of emotion turning into electricity within him.

“It’s not possible,” Fitz whispered to himself. “Simmons didn’t-“

He shook his head, cursing himself for responding to a _hallucination._ Bloody idiot.

“There’s a world where you love me too and I need you to get back to it. I need you to come back to me, Fitz. _Please._ ”

The ghost of a headache throbbed at his temples as he tried to push the image of her out of his mind. He thought of the last time he’d visited her grave – it must have been at least a year and a half. The roses he’d laid on her tombstone no doubt having since crumbled into dust.

“I’m not sure how much longer this machine will let me ramble for, so I’ll stop now. If you want to talk, I’ll call again tomorrow at 8:00am.”

Fitz listened to the message storage options in a daze, hand shaking as he brought his rapidly cooling coffee to his lips. His index finger hovered over the button only a moment before selecting “9” to save.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sat silence a moment considering his options, surprised he hadn’t already made the trek to medical. Maybe if he talked through this temporary insanity it would go away to leave him in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was genuinely painful to write but I hope you're all still with me <3

The next day Fitz was in the office just before 7:00, coffee in hand. Eloise usually didn’t arrive until 8:30 unless there was a big presentation to prepare for, so things were mercifully quiet.

He sighed as he tossed his briefcase onto the armchair in the corner of his office. He’d convinced himself this was the most logical course of action in light of recent disturbing events but god it was _early_. 

If there was no call this morning from one Jemma Simmons, _dead_ biochemist, it would be proof that it was all a horrible nightmare. He would mention to his doctor he hadn’t been sleeping well lately, maybe get a sleep aid or two for his trouble, and forget this whole nonsense ever happened.  

If he picked up the phone and Jemma Simmons was on the other end, he would march himself straight down to medical for a full psych evaluation. He’d get May to cover up any potential scandal, if he could, once he had viable treatment options. Assuming they didn’t cart him off immediately, of course.

He found himself fidgety and it caught him off guard. He couldn’t remember a time when he needed his hands to be constantly moving; drumming on his desk or folding the edges of the newspaper or curling and uncurling around his coffee mug.

Fitz was _wired_. He almost wished he had a stationary bike to expend some of the energy surging through him. When the phone rang at 8:00 on the dot, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

A second ring and he picked up the handset before common sense took hold of him.

“Leopold Fitz.” He tried to sound as calm as possible, as though he were always there to answer phone calls from imaginary people who wanted to speak to him at 8:00 o’clock in the morning.

“Fitz? It’s me, Jemma.” His fist closed around the handset so tightly his knuckles whitened. The caller was clearly female, with an identical voice to Jemma’s. His eyes flickered to the caller ID – _Private_.

“Fitz? Are you there?”

“This is Leopold. Who am I speaking with?”

“ _Leopold?”_ The amusement in her voice was unmistakable.

“Yes.”

“I don’t think I can manage to call you Leo much less _Leopold_.”

“You needn’t call me anything if you’re not going to admit who you are.”

“I told you, it’s Jemma. I left you a voicemail yesterday. Why else would you be answering my call?”

“Jemma Simmons is dead, so I don’t know what you’re playing at but I’ve had enough.” He slammed the receiver down, a shockwave rippling across the surface of his coffee. He exhaled a shaky breath and rubbed his palm across the back of his neck.

It rang again less than a minute later.

“Leopold Fitz.” He practically spat into the phone.

“That wasn’t very nice, Fitz.”

“I don’t bloody well care what you think is nice. This is harassment.”

“Fitz, can you please just give me ten minutes of your time?”

“I don’t see why I should.”

“Ten minutes and I won’t ever contact you again, unless you want me to.”

He sat silence a moment considering his options, surprised he hadn’t already made the trek to medical. Maybe if he talked through this temporary insanity it would go away to leave him in peace.  

“Fine.”

“Really?” Faux-Jemma sounded so elated he’d agreed to hear her out it wrenched some of the anger out of him.

“Time’s ticking.”

“Right, okay, well there’s a lot to cover so I’m going to explain why I’m calling and then ask you a few questions.”

“Fantastic,” he sneered.

“I alluded to it in my message yesterday but the main reason I needed to talk to you was to explain that the world you’re in isn’t real.”

“Certainly felt real to me when I stubbed my toe last week.”

“I know it sounds ridiculous and impossible but keep in mind you’re speaking with a dead woman,” Faux-Jemma sighed.

“I’m currently in denial that’s happening, but continue…”

“I can tell you it’s not a result of time travel or magic or anything quite as unrealistic as that. Not that you’d believe that sort of thing anyway.”

“What is it, then?”

“It’s a virtual reality coded with the assistance of a powerful, centuries old instruction book.”

“Yeah, because that sounds far more plausible.”

“The initial design was yours, actually,” the woman bit back a slight bitterness in her tone, “and then a megalomaniacal evil scientist corrupted everything and re-wrote what he didn’t like so he could control all of us.”

“And you’re saying the real me exists outside of this reality?”

“Exactly. Real versions of all of us do.”

“I’ve got to hand it to you, it would make a great movie plot if I were in that line of work.”

“I wish things were as simple as convincing you to invest in a bloody movie, believe me.”

“I imagine there’s no proof any of this is true.” Fitz grumbled.

“Other than the fact that I’m somehow alive and speaking to you even though I’m dead in this world? Not really.”

“So why did you think calling me would convince me everything I know is a lie?”

“I had to try. I can’t just sit back and have you fade away into nothing. You mean too much to me, to _everyone_.”

“Why would I fade away?”

“You’re hooked up to a machine where all this is playing out in your head. Eventually your body will give out and I’ll lose you forever.” Fitz heard the woman sniffle, a sob escaping her.

This had to be a very elaborate for a prank. The story, the acting, the dialogue – it all tried to club him over the head with sincerity. If he were a more sentimental man, he might even believe it.

“How are you even here?”

“We hacked in.”

“We?”

“Daisy and I.”

“And Daisy is…?”

“Ah, you evidently don’t know Daisy in this world. Bear with me, I’m just making notes.”

Fitz laughed at that. Jemma _would_ take notes.

“You’ve got three minutes left.”

“I know, I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

“I did.”

“Yes, well I do have a few more questions for you. Firstly, how long have we known each other here?”

“You mean how long did I know Jemma? Eight years.”

“And we met at school?” Fitz rolled his eyes at the switch back to we.

“Hydra academy, yeah.”

“Hydra has an _academy?_ ”

“Obviously, where do you think all the agents get trained?”

“I suppose I’m not used to Hydra being quite so… above board.” Fitz’s eyebrows shot up at that. Some may disagree with their methods but Hydra had a hand in saving the world. It was one of the only reasons he had bothered to stick around, if he was honest.

“How did I die?” The woman was weary, Fitz noted, as though speaking of death wasn’t a new scenario for her.

“ _Jemma_ got infected with an incurable virus.”

“An alien virus? Perhaps Chitauri?”

“Yes.” They’d clearly done their homework, whoever the bastard was who’d decided to dig up his past.

“Where were you during all this?” The woman’s tone turned slightly accusatory as though Fitz could have saved Jemma from her fate.

Fitz remembered the conversation from that day vividly. He could step into it at any time but he never wanted to think of it again, if he could help it. He nearly hadn’t taken her call as he thought it was going to be another nag session about the samples they’d recovered from their latest investigation.

_“Fitz?”_

_“I know Simmons, I know – I’ll have the calibration device ready by morning.”_

_“No, that isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”_

_“Everything alright?”_

_“No.”_

_Jemma was scared and the second he understood she was calling to say goodbye his heart fell to his feet. He wondered how far away she was and whether or not he’d be able to find her in time._

_“Fitz, I’m infected with a Chitauri virus and it’s only a matter of time before I’m disposed of.” Her phrasing was a thousand punches to the stomach._

_“No, there has to be another plan. You have to **fix** this.”_

_“I don’t know **how** , Fitz. And you know the protocol in these circumstances.”_

_“Simmons-“_

_“I’ve told May and the only reason I’m even able to call you now is she’s planning on handling everything herself. She knows what you mean to me so she let me have five minutes.”_

_“You can’t just give up! Screw the bloody protocol!”_

_“Fitz there isn’t much time and I feel like there are years’ worth of things to say to you.”_

_Regrets of his own had fallen through him then. They’d had years - years of bickering and rivalry and of being each other’s anchor in any storm. The possibility of losing any sort of future was something he didn’t want to accept._

_“Stay kind, Fitz. I know it’s difficult sometimes but you owe it to yourself to be kind. You’ve got such a good heart, I’d hate for you to waste it.”_

_“Jemma, I have to see you. Where are you?”_

_“I wish we could have had more time. I wanted to see the world. With you.”_

_“There must be another way, Jemma- Please.”_

_“You’ll see it for me, won’t you?”_

_“I don’t want to be anywhere without you-“_

_“I’ll always be with you, Fitz.”_

_The soft click of the call disconnecting unravelled him. He had screamed and thrown everything in the workshop to the ground, punched walls until his knuckles were bloodied and bruised. By the time May had found him he was mostly hollow, a pervasive numbness living in his bones._

Fitz’s face was wet although he couldn’t remember when the tears had escaped to roll down his cheeks. He locked the memory back where it was as quickly as he could. A part of him had died along with Jemma that day. How large a part he was never sure.

“Simmons called me right before she died. To say goodbye.”

“I did?”

Fitz ignored the caller’s use of pronouns to continue. “I didn’t even get a chance to see her before the threat was eliminated.”

“The threat? Oh god.” Fitz could _hear_ the wheels of her mind turning. “They shot me.”

“The virus would have spread to the rest of the team, May had to make the hard call.”

“May?” There was a hint of sadness in her voice he didn’t think had anything to do with the tragic end to the story he was telling.

“Yeah, our director.”

“So no one tried to find a cure, no one jumped out of a plane…”

“Jumped out of a _plane?_ ”

“In the other world, the _real_ world, you were going to jump out of a plane to give me the antiserum.”

“You’re saying in this fictional world, there are vaccines for alien viruses?” Faux-Jemma huffed at his use of the word fictional but didn’t correct him on that particular point.

“Antiserum. But yes.”  Fitz tried to inhale deeply but was met with only a shallow breath. Most of the things Not-Jemma was saying left him annoyed and impatient for it all to be over. Some words that came out of her mouth however he could feel at the base of his spine, where they hummed softly.

“I don’t see how that’s possible, something like that would take years to perfect.”

“We did it in a matter of hours. Together.”

Fitz closed his eyes at that, throat constricting with sadness. He had run scenarios in his head for months after Jemma’s death, imagining the two of them coming up with a solution. A stasis machine or a biochemical weapon that could eradicate all traces of infection. They would have been called heroes, they would have saved the world.

“Sixteen minutes.”

“What?”

“That’s your time done, I’m afraid. Don’t contact me again.”

Fitz set the phone down gently, his thoughts darker than they had been in ages. The three subsequent coffees Eloise delivered to him once she arrived remained untouched.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz is starting to unravel - will it be a blessing or a curse?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof here is the next chapter which I hope you all enjoy… Many thanks to everyone who has cheered me on the last few days - I love you <3 <3 <3

Fitz half-expected his mystery phone harasser to continue their bizarre quest to dredge up as many unpleasant memories as possible the next day. But no messages awaited him, no calls interrupted his day, no carrier pigeons came to his windowsill. He chose to distinctly ignore the slight twinge of disappointment that flared up every hour or so whenever his mind drifted to her. 

But it wasn’t _her_ , was it? It wasn’t actually Jemma back from the dead. How could it be? Technology had made many sweeping advances in his young life but curing death wasn’t one of them.

It had been years since he felt the dull ache of the loss of her – the ache that throbbed in his veins and slowed his breath. Years since he’d allowed himself to give in to it, to feel the hole she’d left in his life. Fitz preferred to feel nothing, if he could help it. Nothing was easier to manage.

Suddenly everything reminded him of Jemma Simmons and it was suffocating him. The proposal he was meant to be drafting to expand their weapons and artillery department made him think of their late night discussions about how they would change the world; to have a hand in protecting the planet. The vase of fresh flowers left on his desk (dahlias, if he wasn’t mistaken) led his mind to the last time he’d visited her grave. Fitz groaned audibly when he realized his search history was full of articles debating the existence of alternate realities.

He had to get out of there – to take a long, preferably all liquid lunch to calm his nerves.

“Eloise?” Fitz mumbled into the intercom, “I’m going out for lunch, back in an hour or so.”

“Of course, Mr. Fitz. I’ll forward any calls to your voicemail.”

Let’s hope there are none to forward, Fitz thought bitterly. 

***

 

By the time Fitz shuffled back to the office, the blindingly bright sunshine of the morning had given way to vaguely threatening clouds. It was a rarity to see rain, at least as far back as he could remember. Rain was definitely not something he missed about growing up in Glasgow. Every other day he would find himself drenched from head to toe, wringing out his school shirt on the doorstep to his flat lest he incur his father’s wrath for dripping water everywhere.

The four drinks (and half a bowl of pretzels) he consumed had the opposite effect to the one he intended. They served to amplify his senses and soon he was imagining Jemma Simmons with every woman who walked past the pub window. When he had gone to settle his tab he stared at the barmaid for a full two minutes simply because her eyes had been a similar shade to the ones he’d looked into for all those years.

Somehow the fear of _actually_ hallucinating Jemma Simmons was far worse than the conversations he had already had with a ghost. Or ghost imposter or whatever. He _wanted_ to see her – to see her smile with her eyes full of life again. If he was merely a puppet and his mind was pulling his strings, the least it could do would be to give him such a vision. Direct him to a glimpse of happiness before plunging him deeper into despair. And he had no doubt despair would win out.

Fitz walked into the elevator, having gone through the security checkpoint on autopilot. The sudden appearance of Melinda May beside him startled him out of his reverie.

“Director May.” He gave a curt nod. They had never been friends in the true sense of the word, but after what happened to Jemma things had only become more fractured.

“Agent Fitz.”

“I’ve got some updated statistics to send you once I’m in my office.”

May nodded, her gaze following the floors they passed.

“Everything alright?”

“Always is.” Fitz _excelled_ at this. At keeping everything outwardly copacetic even if he was struggling just to get through the day. He hadn’t struggled in _years_.

“You seem rattled.”

“I’m never rattled.”

May stared at him, a hint of pain dancing across her features. “No, not anymore.”

He gave her a thin smile until she finally tore her eyes from his face. The ding announcing Fitz had reached his floor couldn’t come soon enough.

“Enjoy the rest of your day.” The words left his mouth automatically, without any trace of sincerity.

May responded with a slow nod as the elevator door closed. 

***

 

Fitz reached home just after 7:00, having stayed and forced himself to get some actual work done rather than faffing about in his own disturbed imagination. He gained some small amount of clarity by his fifth coffee which had been enough to propel him through to the end of the day.

He tossed his keys onto the hall table with a yawn. In a way he was proud of himself – he hadn’t received any further phone calls and, as much as he begrudgingly admitted he would like to see her one last time, he hadn’t _succeeded_ in hallucinating Simmons. Maybe he wouldn’t need to resort to a trip to medical after all.

Fitz bumped his bookcase while shrugging out of his coat, sending several large hardcovers crashing down, narrowly missing his toes. He sucked in a curse as he bent at the waist to gather them up. _An Introduction to Statistical Thermodynamics_ lay splayed open, spine down, a handful of photographs from between its pages staring back at him.

Of course this was the day this would happen. Of fucking course he accidentally knocked the one book down that he kept some of the few mementos of his academy days in. Between the pages were photos of him and Jemma, looking so very _young_ and naïve and inseparable. He pulled his favourite one out, leaving the mess of books where they were, and sat down on the sofa with a sigh.

They had just finished a presentation about a special project worth 40% of their grade – Simmons had been so nervous she nearly dropped her papers twice and they’d both had to finish each other’s sentences at one point or another when the other had frozen. Someone had snapped the picture of them right after class had finished – both too giddy with relief to shoo them away. Fitz was looking straight to the camera, a stupidly smug look on his face. But Jemma – Jemma was looking at _him_.

His heart lurched in his chest as he traced the outline of her face with his fingers. He couldn’t remember ever catching Jemma looking at him quite that way before, at least not that he had ever noticed. It was a mixture of wonder and admiration and longing and it hurt him to look at it again.

Fitz wished he could believe a place existed where Jemma Simmons was alive. The woman had said there was a world where they loved each other – a world where all the things that never happened in his own had come to pass. He wondered if he could reach it as his eyes fluttered closed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are only getting weirder for Fitz…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so thrilled people seem to like this AU, I can’t even tell you <3

The following day Fitz stumbled into his office as elegant as a baby giraffe learning to walk. Exhaustion weighed him down, every movement of his head taking a Herculean effort. He had slept terribly the past two nights, only managing to lightly doze on his leather sofa for a few hours before his phone bleated out an alarm.

Eloise had tried to talk to him but stopped abruptly when met with bleary-eyed confusion.

It took him a full five minutes to realize a box adorned with a small bow sat square in the middle of his desk. A navy blue box with white squares to be precise, otherwise nondescript with no tag attached to give a hint to the sender. The box was clearly impersonating the TARDIS.

Fitz cleared his throat, letting a sigh pass his lips before pressing the intercom. “Eloise?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Why is there a parcel on my desk?”

“I’m not sure, Mr. Fitz. There wasn’t any accompanying note.”

“That’s not a good sign. Hydra has a lot of enemies.”

“It’s already been through the necessary security protocols, sir. Director May dropped it off herself this morning.”

“Director May?” Fitz was thoroughly confused at this. May didn’t often venture to his floor, much less deliver mail to it.

“Yes, she said a friend of yours gave it to her.”

“Which friend?”

“She neglected to share that information, sir.”

“Right. Okay, thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Fitz. Let me know if you need anything else.”

Fitz poked the box with a cautious finger, half-expecting it to start to roar or tick or inch towards the stapler having given up the ruse of not suspicious present. It wasn’t his birthday or any company milestone he could think of. It wasn’t even Robbie Burns’ day or haggis appreciation day or some ridiculous made-up holiday the lab techs would have considered good for a laugh. Those points were of course completely ignoring the fact that he really didn’t have many people he considered friends apart from his father who didn’t quite count and his father’s friends who possibly counted even less.

The lid slid off the box without much fuss and Fitz raised an eyebrow for good measure before peering inside. Staring back at him was a plush monkey toy – a capuchin to be exact. A smile spread slowly across his face as he reached to pick it up; it was realistic enough to satisfy the discerning scientist in him but cute enough that he was sorely tempted to cuddle it immediately.

The monkey – Stuart as Fitz was now calling him – had a bit of yellow ribbon tied around his neck attaching a folded up note.

_Fitz -_

_Jemma told me to tell you that you still can’t have a real one. But if you want my opinion, I think you can wear her down on the subject. We thought this was the next best thing. Now hurry up and snap the fuck out of it so we can all save the (real) world again._

_Daisy_

There was the mention of the infamous Daisy again. Daisy who somehow knew May or at the very least had a connection to Hydra. Daisy who he had never heard of but who apparently was going to great lengths to keep up the pretense that Jemma was alive and well in another universe.

Fitz clutched Stuart to his chest, standing up to pace around his office. Jemma had known about his love for monkeys – they’d discussed it several times and he’d admired her restraint to not roll her eyes even though he knew she wanted to. That little detail wasn’t common knowledge though; he wasn’t close enough to share that with anyone else.

So how the hell was all of this happening?

“Agent Piper, I need to speak to the Director.” Fitz’s fingers dialled May’s line before his brain caught up with what he was doing.

“Director May is not available. Do you want me to take a message?”

“I just wanted to ask about the parcel she dropped off today. Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“Yeah no, can’t say I do. I’ll let her know you called.” A click told him Piper had disconnected the call.

“Great, you’ve been so helpful,” Fitz snarled into the receiver before slamming it back onto the base.

Paranoia wasn’t a strong enough word to accurately describe his current situation. He felt his fingers buzzing with unspent energy, his heart drumming out a more erratic beat as each second passed. Up was down and down was up and nothing made any sort of sense anymore.

Fitz opened a drawer and gently placed Stuart face up, fixing a smile of reassurance on his face as he pushed it closed. He needed to make sure he had no distractions if he was ever going to wrap his head around things and find a modicum of calm. 

* * *

In the subsequent three hours, Fitz only succeeded in replying to four emails and opening the desk drawer eight times to check on Stuart. Not his most productive work day.

“Fitzy, my boy!” Dr. Holden Radcliffe burst through the door to his office, Eloise at his heels looking distinctly apologetic. Radcliffe waved a takeaway food bag at him and grinned. Fitz’s stomach growled as if on cue and he motioned for his assistant to leave them be.

Fitz huffed a sigh. Radcliffe was one of his father’s closest friends and sometimes Fitz marvelled that the two opposites had managed to not kill each other over their long friendship. He liked Radcliffe well enough – the man seemed to actively enjoy spending time with him which was more than he could say for his own father. But god interacting with him was _tiring._

“These are lovely, were they grown in the lab?” Radcliffe had already plunked down in a chair, feet propped up on a small filing cabinet.

“What?”

“The flowers,” Radcliffe gestured to the vase on the far right corner of his desk. The red dahlias had been replaced by sunny yellow daisies and purple forget-me-nots. Fitz narrowed his eyes, making a mental note to check them for surveillance equipment once Radcliffe left him in peace. Whoever was orchestrating this whole thing was _very_ fucking thorough.

“Not sure, they get replaced regularly.”

“Right, right, of course.”

“How’s Agnes?” This sort of small talk was part of the reason Fitz found him so tiring. That he was expected to ask about Radcliffe’s girlfriend and go through the motions until the man would finally divulge the real reason for his visit.

“Good, she’s good. Still painting up a storm.”

“Are we going to eat whatever’s in that bag or is it your latest experiment?”

“Where are my manners? Yes, of course we’re meant to eat it.” Radcliffe reached into the bag producing two sandwiches, two packets of crisps and two bottles of Perrier. “They didn’t have many options, I think they were just opening up, but I figured you’d prefer this one.”

Fitz reached across to collect his sandwich, eyebrows ticking up at the sight of his name scrawled across the wax paper.

“Had them label them so I wouldn’t mix them up.” Radcliffe beamed at him, taking a huge bite of his already unwrapped sandwich. Fitz wrinkled his nose at the smell, thankful Radcliffe hadn’t pegged him for a liver and onions fan. 

When he peeled the paper away, Fitz felt his heart jump to his throat. He wouldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams a prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella sandwich could have elicited such a response but nothing felt normal these days. He raised a half to his nose and took a sniff. Pesto aioli. _Definitely_ a hint of pesto aioli.

It seemed like a lifetime ago since Fitz had one of these sandwiches; Jemma’s special concoction that fueled many of their late night study sessions. He knew Jemma had only kept making it because it was his favourite – she preferred a ploughman’s sandwich with spring onion. But she’d made it for _him_.

The idea his lunch could be poisoned briefly crossed his mind but his growling stomach and the nostalgia floating around in his brain brought the sandwich to his lips. It was even better than he remembered, which he wouldn’t have thought remotely possible. Mid-chew he looked down at the remaining half of the sandwich to find the edge of a note poking out from beneath the bread. Fitz spluttered a cough but managed to keep the bite of food in his mouth as he unfolded it.

 

_Fitz -_

_We decided on a two-pronged attack – Jemma’s words, not mine – food safety be damned. Hopefully by now you realize there are just too many coincidences at play here and believe us. If you want to see for yourself, Jemma will be at 302 Main Street at 7:00 tonight._

_Daisy_

 

Fitz cautioned a glance at Radcliffe but the man was busy stuffing his face and fiddling with his phone. He tucked the note into the pocket of his suit jacket. Tonight, then. Tonight the madness would finally end. Or perhaps begin anew. 

Either way, he was ready to face it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second he caught sight of her, all breath left him. He may as well be a fish, frantically gasping for air and flopping around on the pavement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay on this folks! I was off on vacation attending a con for another one of my favourite shows and as soon as I got back I ended up with a monster flu. I’m still hoping to have the final chapter up before the episode airs and canon obliterates everything, though!

Fitz muttered a curse to himself as he stepped out into the cool night air at 6:55, eager to get the impossible encounter over with. She wanted to meet in a park, of all places. As though that would be a place he gravitated to. As if he were the outdoor type, rolling up in his jet-black sedan with tinted windows to admire the local greenery. He’d checked the GPS four times before he resigned himself to the fact a park did indeed have a numerical address. 

The second he caught sight of her, all breath left him. He may as well be a fish, frantically gasping for air and flopping around on the pavement. 

There was no doubt she looked identical to Jemma – _his_ Jemma – dressed in a royal blue sweater, the rounded collar of her white blouse resting neatly around her neck, jeans faded against the brilliant green of the park bench she was sitting on. Wisps of hair had unearthed themselves from her ponytail, only adding to the general weariness of her expression. 

“Hi Fitz.” She smiled weakly, her hand coming up to give a small wave as she rose to walk closer to him. Her amber eyes widened as they met his hairline.

“What have you done to your _hair_?”

“What?” Fitz tried to reconcile the annoyance at dealing with the stranger in front of him with the fact that everything that came out of her mouth sounded so very _Jemma_ -like. It unnerved him.

“What compelled you to part your perfectly lovely hair?”

Well, _almost_ everything that came out of her mouth. This Jemma, whether ghost or visitor from another reality, had clearly amended their bickering into a fondness that made him long for her world like a wave needing to return to the shore. 

“I happen to like the way it looks, thank you.”

“It’s strange, isn’t it? How much hasn’t happened here that should have. And what has that shouldn’t.”

“Who are you to say it should have?”

She winced at his words and he immediately felt sorry for his instant snap, the cavalier way he tossed her very existence back at her. The constant realigning of everything he knew to be true was utterly exhausting.

“I don’t think this is how our story should end,” she gave a small smile, “I suppose I never want it to end, really. Though I’d settle for another 50 or 60 years.”

“Maybe the cosmos wanted us apart,” Fitz shrugged, “and we’re not meant to change things.”

Not-Jemma laughed at that; a genuine, incredulous laugh that made every cell in his body sing. He watched her face crumple into sadness before she spoke again.

“You once told me you couldn’t live if I didn’t, then you ignored me when I said I felt the same way…”

Fitz’s knees were unsteady. He wished desperately to tear himself away, to turn heel and run as far away from her as he could. The anguish in her face was a tether to his heart, though, keeping him fixed on the spot.

“You sacrificed your life for mine. Not just then, dozens of times afterwards, and I’ll gladly do the same. In _any_ universe.”

“I need to sit down.” Fitz mumbled, making a bee-line for the bench directly ahead.

“Yes, of course. I imagine this is a lot to take in. I’m sorry I haven’t exactly eased you into the conversation.” She smiled an apology and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “If time wasn’t of the essence I maybe could have come up with something less jarring.”

They sat side by side in silence, each minute passing ebbing away at Fitz’s insistence this was all imaginary. Even if his brain could short-circuit in this way, the conversations he had with this Jemma weren’t predictable. Why would his mind be riling him up rather than placating him with soothing, neatly-packaged resolutions?

“I don’t understand why this is happening. Why now? Why come to me?” He dared to twist his body to face her, pushing away the strange and powerful urge to wrap his arms around her.

“You’re our best chance of surviving, Fitz.”

“I’m not- I don’t have the kind of tech you need to get to wherever you are.”

“It’s not tech I’m after, it’s you.”

“I’m not even the same Leopold Fitz that Jemma knew,” Fitz admitted. It was a harsh truth but every bone in his body agreed with the assertion. In a world where he’d let himself forget Jemma, he found himself forgotten too.

“I’m stuck in the same bloody outfit I died in!” she exclaimed, huffing a sigh directed as much to herself as anyone. “I feel invisible.”

“Wait, how do you know you’re in the outfit Jemma died in?”

“It’s the same one I wore the day I didn’t die in the real world – the day you helped save my life.”

“How would _I_ know that, though?” Fitz brought his fingers to his lips, mind racing through a thousand thoughts. He stood up from the bench to pace, adjusting his trajectory as soon as she jumped up to join him.

“Fitz?”

“I didn’t know what Jemma was wearing when she died, why would I hallucinate you in that outfit _telling_ me it was the same outfit?”

“Well I’m not a hallucination, for starters…”

“Just because I’m not mad in one way, doesn’t mean I’m immune to others.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This is more than just seeing and speaking to my dead friend… There’s something in this my brain is trying to get me to do.”

“Finally something we can agree on!” Jemma beamed at him, shifting from foot to foot as though she could start hopping at any moment.

“What are _you_ on about?”

“There’s a reason I’m here, Fitz. Even if you don’t believe I’m really _here_ here. And the sooner you realize that, the sooner you’ll come back to me for good.”

Fitz stared at her. This was all too much, too layered a thing to comprehend.

“How would my realizing you’re here for a reason change anything?”

“I think it all comes down to how conscious thought interacts with the framework. Think of how mice or other small animals can be trained to approach a course a completely different way if they know in advance what the endgame is.”

“Am I the mouse in this scenario?” Fitz scoffed.

“Unfortunately yes. I am too, though I already see the outside of the maze – I know what’s required to end up at the finish line.” Alternate-Jemma was positively radiant now, her delight that he seemed to be coming around to her way of thinking visible in her shining eyes.

“So you’re saying just the fact I know an endgame exists alters how I interact with this reality, thus changing the entire course of events.”

“Yes, precisely! If you see that my being here has a purpose, whatever you view that purpose to be, it fundamentally changes how things work here – how your mind _processes_ the structure of this reality.”

“That’s an awful lot of assumptions to make, especially for a scientist. We thrive on _proof_ , not faith.”

“I’ll admit it’s a lot to take in but the brain is a complex organ and we can’t even claim to know half of the things we should know about it by now.”

“I’m not saying I believe you’re here and that you’re not just my mind playing tricks on me, but how do you explain you even being able to talk to me? You’re dead and buried.” Fitz ignored the twinge of sadness that swept into his lungs at the mention of Jemma’s death.

“The best explanation I can think of is that the fact that I hacked into the Framework at all created some sort of anomaly – a glitch for lack of a better term.”

“So the only reason you can be here is that there’s no way for you to actually be here?”

“I knew you’d understand, Fitz. You always understand.” Not-Jemma gazed at him with such love in her eyes it was painful to look back at her.

Fitz sighed. This was madness, complete infuriating madness.

“What am I supposed to do? For this grandiose plan of yours to work?”

“I think it would help to try and get some of the synapses to connect again, to get the neural pathways to reconnect.”

“How in the bloody hell do I do that?”

“ _We_ do that. I think we need to sit down and go over everything that’s happened both here and there – maybe the gaps and inconsistencies will awaken those links in your mind.”

“Just go through everything that’s happened in my life with a hallucination of my best friend while pretending I don’t need to be on some serious medication?”

“What if you look at it as though this is a step and you can still do that after this step is done, if that’s what you want to do?”

“I can’t do this, I have to go.”

“Fitz, please just think about it. I’ll be here again tomorrow at the same time, alright?” She reached her hand towards his arm then thought better of it, fingers curling into themselves.

He straightened his scarf, staring at the space between them, astounded he could feel at once so close to his dear friend whilst still separated from her forever.

“Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> points to whoever was able to pick out a lyrical reference in this chapter..


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything was cold and flat and his mind stuttered and stopped like a record caught on its needle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended to update this earlier but life has been getting in the way and also the recent episodes have been destroying me. This fic is turning out to be very canon divergent but you’re all here for the feels anyway, right?

That night Fitz dreamt of blue. He was never one to really remember his dreams – they typically flitted away as soon as he felt the sunshine hit his eyelids, peeking through from between the blinds in his bedroom. These however had been vivid and far less calming than he imagined such a colour palette could invoke. First he dreamed of a shimmery, watery blue. Schools of fish seemed to zoom past his vision – sparkling coppers and golds, twisting and darting as an ethereal light hit them. It would have been pleasant if the overall feel of the dream hadn’t been so suffocating. It was all pressure on his chest and a tug at his collar and an oppressive absence of air. There was a soft warmth on his face like the ghost of a kiss and it made his bones ache more than the deprivation of oxygen. Everything was cold and flat and his mind stuttered and stopped like a record caught on its needle.

Then the dream morphed into the clear blue of a cloudless sky. A sky that brought on the most intense sensation of pure panic he had ever felt. He was somehow in the air, on a plane maybe, but staring at an expanse of windowless blue with no discernible border. Fitz screamed as the wind whipping outside tore his heart, bloody and warm, from his body. He watched it somersault up and away only to dip down and out of sight. His throat was raw and burned with anguish. He swore he could still feel his absent heart thudding against his ribs.

The thudding was his constant as the sky fell away to a world of dust. An endless desert, dunes stretching out as far as he could see. The blue that surrounded him was that of a permanent dusk where even the idea the sun seemed long forgotten. Something about the terrain made him doubt he’d ever see a sun again. Dim blue would be his only friend for the rest of his days and hopelessness edged away at his sanity. He walked and walked for what seemed like hours but the dunes didn’t get any smaller and the world didn’t get brighter and whatever blood was left in his veins was rapidly turning to sand.

_Do something_ , his mind screamed. Fitz wanted to punch the ground until it swallowed him whole. **_DO SOMETHING._**

The world stayed blue and barren.

Fitz only managed to wake up once his alarm buzzed for a full five minutes. He stumbled out of bed and towards the kitchen, turning on the tap before the need to drink several glasses of water reached its breaking point.

He had taken his phone with him as though it was sewn into his palm, instincts making up for the haze in his head. He squinted at the tiny screen as his thumb flew over the keypad.

_Reschedule all meetings. Taking a personal day._

Eloise could deal with the fallout if any awaited him at the office. He never took a day off anyway, surely he deserved one.

Fitz decided cleaning his apartment was both important and distracting enough to start immediately. Even if he would eventually relent and head back to the park this evening, 7:00pm was ages away from 9 in the morning. Maybe, if he wished hard enough, he would wake up from his current reality – the jumble of longing, suspicion and faint echoes of another time. Caffeine definitely wouldn’t go amiss during such a quest.

He grimaced at the smell of coffee and placed the bag of beans back on the top shelf of the cupboard, shrugging at Stuart as the toy monkey watched him from atop the fridge. He rummaged through boxes of granola bars and protein shake mix until he found a strangely welcome sight in the form of a stash of Yorkshire Gold. He didn’t drink tea anymore but he vaguely remembered stocking a tea option for potential guests.

A boiled kettle and two heaping spoonfuls of sugar later and Fitz was sat on the sofa, fingers curled around a mug of tea, staring at the distinct lack of mess in his apartment. If cleaning was out as an option, what did that leave him to do with the rest of his day? His nerves were far too frayed to think of new projects for work and as much as he wanted to go back to sleep, he feared returning to the worlds of ominous blue.

Fitz narrowed his eyes at his bookshelves, a critical tilt of his head as he sipped his tea. Bookshelves always needed rearranging, didn’t they? By author or subject or colour or usefulness. He drained his tea and got to work.

Twenty minutes in and his hands were flying across the spines, shifting them effortlessly like a massive puzzle. It wasn’t until he had finished, triumphantly admiring his work and the fluidity of his organization that he noticed the titles of the five books in the center spelled out J-E-M-M-A.

Fitz decided organization was overrated. He grabbed the largest, most technical-jargon filled book he could find and headed off back to bed. If he could dream of microelectronics instead of blue hellscapes, maybe he could finally get a bit of rest.

***

 

A groggy, ravenous Fitz awoke at 6:15; a mild unease the only lingeringly feeling from an otherwise dreamless sleep. He rushed to make and wolf down cheese on toast before he found himself automatically rifling through his closet to find something to wear. He instinctively already chose to meet the impossible living copy of his dead friend and honestly he was too tired to fight the impulse. He slipped on his coat and headed out. 

In the brisk evening air, the fog began to lift and Fitz berated his practically nonexistent resolve. The small insistent voice that piped up whenever he started on such a tangent grew more and more reasonable. What if she’s telling the truth? What if there is a world where she’s alive? What if there’s a world where they’re _together?_

Hope may be foolish but it was the only thing that didn’t make him feel completely empty these days.

7:05 was nothing but annoyance, shuffling feet and clicking his tongue and craning his neck in every direction to see if she was finally coming round the corner. By 7:35 a cold, persistent dread leeched into his bones; worry knotting tightly in his stomach.

7:48 and he saw her running towards him, dodging the one random dog walker in the nearly empty park.

“What time do you call this, then?” Fitz barked, nearly laughing as relief flooded into him. He stopped to take in the sight of her – eyes wide with fear, a painful looking gash on her forehead. It made his blood boil.  

“I’m sorry, Fitz. I narrowly escaped two Hydra agents looking to take me in for questioning.”

“They did that to you?”

“It was quite the scuffle. Anyway I don’t think we’re safe here. Could you come with me to a place just up the road? Daisy managed to secure an apartment we’re using as a base.”

“A convenient place to knock me out and ransom me for money?”

“Please, Fitz.” Alternate-Jemma looked so pale and frightened Fitz regretted his half-serious joke instantly.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

As much confusion and distrust still lurked under the surface, Fitz stayed no more than a few inches away from the other Jemma as they walked quickly through quiet residential streets.

Whatever truths he may uncover, the need to protect her was never something he could doubt.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If this was what he could expect of this world, maybe the idea of another wasn’t entirely terrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack I'm sorry this update is far later than I intended. Real life has been kicking my ass this year but I haven't lost my love for this story. Thank you so much to everyone who has read and commented - you are all wonderful <3 <3 <3
> 
> There are discussions about past abuse/general unpleasantness in this chapter, so if that bothers you please be warned. 
> 
> There will be one more chapter and an epilogue to come sooner rather than later, so thank you for sticking with me!

“Fitz!” A woman Fitz could only presume was Daisy beamed at him as he stepped through the door. The tension Not-Jemma had been carrying in her shoulders vanished; Fitz did his best to ignore the fact he’d been staring enough to realize the change. Daisy seemed to think better of embracing him, outstretched arm veering at the last moment to give a weak punch to the shoulder.

The apartment was small, just slightly larger than his master bedroom, if he was estimating. A cork board housing pinned photos and schematics like something out of a police TV drama front and center in the living room.

“What the hell happened to you, Simmons?” Daisy demanded, concern evident as she inspected the gash on her friend’s head.

“Hydra.”

“Those sons of bitches. I think it’s time to speed up our little rescue mission before we lose any players in this messed up videogame version of real life.”

“It’s not that simple, Daisy!” Alternate-Jemma sighed, “We can’t just knock everyone over the head and drag them back. We don’t even know where Mack _is_.”

Daisy looked crestfallen for a moment before turning towards Fitz “I bet _he_ has access to all the info we need…”

Fitz scoffed, casting a cursory glance at this universe’s Jemma. A pained smile ghosted across her features and he was surprised at how the tiny action seemed to needle into his heart.

“We’re going to talk, Daisy… about everything.”

“Right. Well I’m going to check out a lead about Coulson.” Daisy grabbed a leather jacket hanging off the back of a kitchenette chair, slipping into it on her way towards the door. Fitz marvelled at how much the jacket seemed like her armour, and with it on she was ready to battle the entire city.

She gave a nod to them both which seemed more warning than goodbye and then they were alone.

 

“Have a seat. I’m just going to clean some of this blood off and change,” Faux-Jemma gestured to the dried blood taking up a sizeable portion of her face.

Fitz opened his mouth to ask if she needed help before thoughts of just how awkward it would be to tend to the wounds of someone he both knew and didn’t know at all pushed into his skull. Best not.

He sank into the shabby sofa at peace with the fact that he didn’t have the energy to try and snoop around the small apartment. As much as it would be a relief to uncover this was all a grandiose scam, there was too much warring in his own mind to try to absorb any new information. The past few days he felt like a kettle almost nearing boiling point; as though time was simmering away with no payoff.

If this was what he could expect of this world, maybe the idea of another wasn’t entirely terrible.

A mug of tea appeared before him, Not-Jemma giving him a warm smile. It was made exactly as he took it, though he never requested it in the first place; two sugars and a splash of milk. This universe’s version of Jemma hadn’t even bothered to get away with one sugar out of some strange notion it was better for his health. He must look sufficiently dreadful.

She had changed into an oversized NASA sweatshirt and leggings and managed to make the gash on her forehead look far less painful with a small plaster.  She curled her fingers around a mug of her own and sat beside him.

“Where do we start if we’re going to talk about _everything_ as you put it?” Fitz asked, prepared for more interrogation and confusion.

“Well, maybe I should start by going over how things are in my world,” Faux-Jemma gave a very believable fake smile before continuing. “You and I met in school, the same as we did here, except it was S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy not Hydra.”

_“S.H.I.E.L.D.?”_ Fitz gaped. “The terrorist organization?”

“Right well in my world it’s the other way around – Hydra are the ones hell-bent on destroying humanity.”

“Is everything here the exact opposite of what you’re used to?”

“Sort of, but not entirely,” Not-Jemma said cryptically. “We were inseparable, we joined S.H.I.E.L.D. together then we joined a special team for field investigations.”

“Jemma and I never passed our field assessments. We were always better behind the scenes at Hydra; developing tech, protecting the frontline.”

It was strange how talking about _his_ Jemma with someone who for all intents and purposes _was_ Jemma somehow replaced the majority of sadness at her memory with fondness.

“You always said we’d regret it,” she tucked a strand of hair straying from her ponytail behind an ear. “I suppose after us nearly dying countless times we should.”

“You said on the phone you beat the Chitauri virus…”

“ _We_ did. Though not before I jumped out of the plane to try and save the team.” Alternate-Jemma winced.

“And May? It sounded like you knew her when I mentioned she- she was the one who-“ Fitz let the words die in his throat.

Truth be told he still hadn’t forgiven May, though he knew anyone would have been expected to do the same in her position. Understanding the reasons behind something and being alright with it were two very different things, however.

“She’s on our team, always looking out for us,” Not-Jemma smiled. “Do you have much contact with her here?”

“I report into her, yeah. Don’t see her too often, mind you.” Fitz took a swig of tea. “Last time I did she looked strange.”

“Strange how?”

“Like she wanted to say something to me, almost as though she was melancholy,” Fitz huffed, “which is ridiculous because I can count the times I’ve seen Director May emotional on exactly zero hands.”

“But what did you talk about?” Faux-Jemma asked, leaning closer to him in anticipation of his answer, “Please Fitz, Daisy and I are here to bring May back too.”

“She told me I looked rattled. I wouldn’t have thought she paid enough attention to me to bloody well notice,” Fitz muttered.

“That’s amazing!”

“What is?”

“Fitz, don’t you see? We can create a ripple effect for everyone else trapped here! If you’ve changed how May sees you, you change how May perceives her world.”

“That’s quite a lot of faith you’re putting in me, actually.”

“I have more faith in you than I do in myself sometimes, Fitz.” Her words were meant to be encouraging but the delivery caused a dull ache to settle into his chest.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“ _Jemma_ would never say that. “

“I thought you were of the philosophy that I’m not Jemma but a hallucination of Jemma as you knew her. So if that’s the case I wouldn’t say anything you wouldn’t believe Jemma would say.” Faux-Jemma grinned – the grin Jemma always let slide into place when she knew she was right.

Fitz downed the rest of his tea, placing his mug on the coffee table in front of them. God, even Jemma impersonations could run circles around his logic.

“Fitz?” Alternate-Jemma ventured after the edges of her grin had reluctantly disappeared. “I have to ask you something about someone who may be here, in the Framework. The creator himself-“

“Hold on, the creator is _in_ this reality?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Is he controlling it from the inside?” Fitz suddenly felt like he had left his body and was currently inhabiting the closest conspiracy theorist.

“That’s what I’m not sure of. I have a feeling A.I.D.A. may have already made some adjustments to alter his ability to affect things here.”

“Aida?”

“Long story. In short she’s an android the creator built which you helped to perfect.”

“An _android?_ So we’re trapped in a bad science fiction novel and have to save the universe? Come off it.” Fitz shook his head, sighing.

“Holden Radcliffe built it.”

“Dr. Radcliffe?

“You know him here?” She asked, a hopeful gleam in her eyes.

“Yeah, of course I know him.”

“Who is he here? I mean, what does he do, who does he work for?”

“He’s best mates with my dad. Works for Hydra, naturally, someone of his talent was an easy acquisition.”

“Your father?”

“What about him?”

“He’s _here_? That explains… some things.” She paused to sip her tea, eyes large but avoiding his gaze over the mug.

“What things?”

Not-Jemma dismissed him with a wave of her hand as she lowered the mug to her lap. “Where’s your mum?”

“Dead. She died when I was 10.”

“Oh Fitz,” her eyes filled with tears and it looked as though she was fighting the urge to throw her arms around him. “I’m so sorry, I know how much she means to you.”

“It was a long time ago. Anyway how would you know what she meant to me? Jemma and I didn’t know each other then.”

“She’s alive in the real world, _my_ world.”

“Right,” Fitz tried to steady the wave of grief that passed through him.

“She’s _so_ proud of you, Fitz. I can hear her voice when you talk about her sometimes – saying how you’re the best son she could have ever hoped for.”

A longing crashed against his ribcage; leaving a wake of bitterness. He wondered how he would feel now, if his father shared those sentiments. If his father ever offered more than the brief nod of approval and occasional clap on the back.

“And my dad?”

“We should probably talk more about Radcliffe and what he does.” She leaned to put her half-drunk tea on the table.

“What is it? Is he dead in your reality too?”

“No, I just- we don’t need to talk about every little detail.”

Fitz bit his tongue hard enough to draw a drop of blood. He’d nearly called her Jemma.

“You’re the one who said we should compare realities for the sake of my sanity!”

“I know. I just- I don’t want to hurt you.” She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder and he didn’t shrug it away.

“Are you saying something about him already _does_ hurt me?”

“You’ve said you’re out of that loop now. But I know it still hurts you. How could it not?”

“Tell me.”

“He left you and your mum when you were 10.” Not-Jemma admitted.

“And what, I never saw him again?”

“You didn’t want to.”

“Not even to knock him stupid for abandoning mum?”

“He belittled you, said horrible things to you. Untrue and cruel things.” A dark look flashed across her face; Fitz imagined if his father were in front of her right now she would find it difficult not to attack him.

“Oh.” The hand he forgot was resting on his shoulder gave a little squeeze.

“What is he like here?”

“Probably not that different, really. But he’s my dad.” He tugged at his earlobe, hoping this particular part of their conversation would end quickly. “Besides dads are meant to toughen you up.”

“No Fitz,” a tear finally escaping to roll down her cheek, “they’re meant to show you how to be a good person by being one themselves.”

“It’s not like I turned into a monster,” Fitz talked to his hands on his knees, “no matter how opposite your Fitz I am.”

Whatever response Alternate-Jemma had was interrupted by Daisy bursting through the door with an older man he’d never seen before in tow, both looking as if they’d run full speed up the several flights of stairs.

“Got Coulson,” Daisy grinned at them.


End file.
